That monthly date of theirs?” He nods warily. “It’s a front. That’s when they go off to see him.”
He blows out a breath. “This is all too fucked up.”
That’s when the screeching sound of chair legs grating the floor rises above the ambient music. My attention moves back to Iris.
And I know I shouldn’t stare but…
My roommate’s date is now standing in the middle of this fancy French restaurant, trying to force-feed her a granola bar.
What the…?
Iris takes a step back. She politely declines the man’s offer with a tight smile and a little hand wave. She glances around, evidently conscious of her growing audience.
The waiter tries to intervene, quietly whispering a reprimand to Iris’s date. But the man gives the server the brush-off and takes an insistent step closer to Iris. He grabs a brochure out of his briefcase and brandishes it in her face.
“Is he trying to sell her something?” I mutter. This is very confusing.
Cannon’s attention moves in that direction. Half the patrons in the restaurant are staring over that way.
Iris takes another step back and bumps into the chair behind her. At the panicked expression on her features, I feel something protective rising up in me but I don’t want to jump in the middle of this and make an even bigger scene. I grip the edge of my chair and lay back, watching to see how this plays out.
Now, the restaurant manager is at their table. “Sir, ma’am—this is a restaurant. If you want to dine here, you have to order off our menu. We don’t allow patrons to eat outside meals on our premises.”
All that should be self-evident. Le Sous-Sol is the most exclusive restaurant in town. Iris’s date is obviously an idiot.
“It’s just a bit of a sampler,” the guy says dismissively. “Not a threat to your over-priced ‘escargot’ and ‘foie gras’.” He puts the French words in air-quotes then shoves the brochure at Iris again.
“Sir, you’ll have to leave.” The manager is bloating up with restrained rage. Won’t be long before he blows his lid.
Again, Iris glances around embarrassedly. When our eyes hit, I’m done holding myself back.
Without even a glimpse in Cannon’s direction, I’m stomping across the restaurant like a goddamned Avenger. I tower above the peanut butter peddler when I step between him and Iris. “Hey man, are you gonna just leave or are you gonna make this into a problem?”
By this point, the whole restaurant has tuned into the drama.
He blinks up into my face and for a fraction, he freezes. Disoriented. Starstruck. “J-Jude Kingston…?”
I roll my eyes. “Not the time, man. Not the time.” I point him in the direction of the door. “Leave.”
At the slicing edge in my tone, the man grabs his briefcase and sulks his way to the exit. “Fucking over-priced foie gras,” he mutters bitterly to himself.
Iris is left standing there, one arm banded around her middle. Every inch of her is pink with embarrassment and she looks like she’s trying to fold in on herself.
She grabs her glass and tosses back the last of her wine, squirming as it burns its way down. She looks up at me, adorably shamefaced. She whispers, “I think I'm gonna need a ride home.”
21
Jude
Minutes later, I’ve settled the bill and the waiter has packed up my brother’s meal to go. Cannon merrily accepts his takeout container and he’s out the door, eager to get home and pick up naked-hour with his wife.
Then, Iris and I are in my car, making the short drive home. The ride is painfully silent, with nothing but the low sounds of a sports talk station filling the vehicle. I squeeze behind her car in the driveway and I have to say something to her.
I turn in her direction but before I can get a word out, she’s muttered a hasty ‘thanks’ and she’s bolting up the walkway and through the front door.
Fuck—I want to bang my head on the steering wheel because, yet again, I’ve missed my shot. Usually, I’m good with women. Getting a female to spend the night with me is pretty straightforward, especially once they realize who I am. But with Iris, I’ve got zero game.
A beep sounds from the seat Iris just vacated. I glance over and notice her cellphone lighting up on my passenger seat. With a sigh, I scoop up the device and move up the walkway.
My limp isn’t so pronounced tonight, I realize. A rush of gratitude pours through me as I climb the stairs